100 Words: Abandoned

Heartbreak is a real thing, she thinks, reaching up to put a palm over her chest, to press hard the heel of her hand against an ache that cannot be soothed. It rises in the back of her throat, a poisoned tightness, a heavy suffocation, a drowning, despairing weight that sinks in and clutches at one’s ribs, crushing them as though they might crack under the pressure, the strain.

She closes her eyes against the pressure of it, swallowing back a rising shriek. There isn’t anyone left to hear her, anyway. There hasn’t been, in a very, very long time.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Fiction and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to 100 Words: Abandoned

  1. Abbie says:

    good flavor. 🙂

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.